I can't help my lust for silver, shafts sunk, tunnels carved, streams penetrated, all for that precious last cask of Aztec, Inca, Arapaho blood, our bitter Amontillado. Yes sirs, to a debtor's prison children unborn are consigned, bankers foresworn. If centuries hence Sutton Hoo should rise again I pray some poor sprite unearths my coffee can. America was ordained by an ecstasy for gold, but that was never her promise.